


What Happened in Macau

by ASpookyCrow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASpookyCrow/pseuds/ASpookyCrow
Summary: Five years into his service with Blackwatch, Jesse McCree had come to realize he'd grown comfortable with the routine his line of work provided.  He’d deploy to a new, exciting frontier, neutralize a handful of targets, and come home to hang his hat at some strategically located base and indulge in an entire day of sleep. One of the finest things about working under Commander Reyes was knowing where he stood, and what was coming.The procedure of it all had become reliable, and Jesse found himself suddenly overwhelmed with how much he might miss that reliability.





	What Happened in Macau

**Author's Note:**

> This will get happier and sweeter, I promise you.

Five years into his service with Blackwatch, Jesse McCree had come to realize he'd grown comfortable with the routine his line of work provided. He’d deploy to a new, exciting frontier, neutralize a handful of targets, and come home to hang his hat at some strategically located base and indulge in an entire day of sleep. One of the finest things about working under Commander Reyes was knowing where he stood, and what was coming. 

A particularly successful run would find their squad in the showers afterwards, proudly taking turns embellishing the clockwork execution of their roles. Kehr (in a masterful display of how to become everyone’s favorite pilot) would pass out jello shots or red solo cups in the showers, pouring them a few fingers deep with whatever booze he had the most to spare of.

They’d debrief some time after in one of the nicer conference rooms, one labeled higher up in the alphabet. Conference room A or B, meeting hall 1 or 2. Overwatch always dressed those first ones up nice for video calls with the UN. Crown moulding and full-length wooden tables made out of some tree the world hadn’t produced a lot of recently, a version of it always tidy and available for use no matter which Watchpoint they found themselves on. Reyes might still look strained from lack of sleep before all the paperwork was said and done, but everything looked better under that soft, recessed lighting. 

The procedure of it all had become reliable, and Jesse found himself suddenly overwhelmed with how much he might miss that reliability.

Blackwatch’s most recent job had ended in an utter rout. 

It wasn't his first failed mission by a long shot, but in his whole life of slinging guns, Jesse was hard pressed to recall a run that had gone even nearly as bad. Everything that could go wrong did, catastrophically. Right out from under them.

Thinking about it had McCree lifting his hat and running his hands through his hair. Again and again, he repeated the gesture any time his thoughts drifted away long enough for him to forget to not do it. A glaring tell he had picked up (and thought he’d kicked) back when he was green in Blackwatch and found himself surrounded by professionals who didn’t want to hear how some dressed-up thug felt about his tough day. He needed a cigarillo in his hand to really stop the fidgeting. A cigarillo or a gun.

Or a drink, maybe.

It didn’t help one bit that Commander Reyes hadn’t said a word since they had been extracted. The intensity in his posture alone held the transport in a hush the entire ride over the Pacific. The only break in silence that seemed to be permitted was the clinking from the extra set of dogtags Reyes wore around his neck. The new set glinted differently than anyone else’s, but that could mean a lot of things, considering. 

Without a lead to follow, Jesse was at a loss for how to feel. By the time the transport touched down in Colorado, it felt like all of his edges had worn rough.

The Macau debriefing was scheduled in conference room F for immediately after they disembarked. McCree wasn’t sure if Watchpoint: Grand Mesa’s conference rooms even went down to F until he’d found it. There was a very real possibility that someone had hung a special sign in front of an empty closet just for the occasion. 

The barest hint of a joke around it standing for ‘Fucked’ formed in his mind, but the brief impulse to crack wise dissolved in the pit of his stomach as he took his seat with the group. A full team of six clustered around a square white table, presumably not built for more than four. 

Despite the oppressive odor of the crowded room, nobody seemed to blame Reyes for his haste in ordering the debriefing immediately. There were only so many ways an op could go tits-up before something like another man’s blood in your shoes seemed like nitpicking. 

One by one, they were called, the entire production serving as a long-form reminder to everyone what a bad (yet for some reason necessary) idea it was to go in blind. Jesse, in an exceptional display of self control, managed to resist the urge to suck his teeth every time Strike Commander Morrison’s prerogative on the matter was brought up as a positive.

Agent Howell’s take on things were by far the driest, but even so Reyes leaned into every word, keyed in to the sterile details for the sake of his notes. The extraction target had been an ex Overwatch agent by the name of Reid, a hacker with a serious pedigree. With Liao vouching for her, she was a ringer for the position of Blackwatch’s resident tech specialist, and did a damn fine job of it for an entire day before she got a good, hard look at Athena’s back end. Rumor had it, all of a sudden she started begging and self-selecting to go full white hat to shore up their defenses. 

Problem was, as Agent Ibekwe explained, people that curious get bored sitting still. Once Reid’s contract was up she left right away “for more exciting frontiers”. A few months later, she proceeded to drop right off the face of the earth, which as it turns out is very against policy. The next time she shows up, it’s at some port outside of Macau handling small-time heists by altering shipping manifests. Not the sort of glamorous work someone who handled AI infosec for a UN peacekeeping force gets caught up in.

Agent Sarafian went on to state his read on whether it was a job Reid took willingly or if she was compelled, based on the security around where they found her and her “general vibe”. Commander Reyes sneered at that, and set his pen down for lack of hard facts. It was anyone’s guess, Sarafian admitted, but he’d got a shady read off of the situation. Reid was plausibly relieved to see the team and went along quietly, but hadn’t been exactly detained in the room she was presumedly held in.

For his part, McCree made sure to mention that whoever supplied the ship they found her on had some serious tech on-hand. The whole thing was rigged from stem to stern with hard light turrets, set to some bizarre after-market beam patterns he couldn’t identify the source of. 

Deadlock had dabbled in all sorts of weaponry, and as one of their most ardent recruits, McCree had made a killing selling surplus hard light guns and turrets after the states started passing laws banning private ownership. Hell, that part of the job barely felt like a crime. After all the shit people went through during the Crisis, procuring big ol’ Omnic zappers for defense-minded folks felt like a badge of honor (although for the sake of the debrief, he knew to keep those parts to himself.) 

Even so, knowing where guns were from and what they could output was part of what he felt good at, and it bugged him to no end that these seemed entirely unique to what he was familiar with.

“Goddamn spirals, sir,” McCree emphasized, trying and failing to school his tone to be professional. Breathing more helped. “Spiraling laser turrets took Reid’s head clean off, just meters from me.” 

Ibekwe interrupted and clarified that the shape she had observed had in fact been helixes, and immediately Howell and Wan agreed with her. McCree nodded curtly and swallowed his pride, a bit annoyed that he’d spoken wrong but quietly grateful the record was straight.

“Helixes, then. That’s our ticket. That’s how we identify who’s payroll she was on. Or whoever took her.” He corrected quickly.

That wet, blonde mop of hers tagging him on the shoulder startled him so much he nearly jumped right out of cover, himself. In the moment he had been downright horrified, so in regards to her rationale, he couldn’t say he really remembered all that clearly. It could have been nerves or curiosity, or it could have been as simple as good old-fashioned negligence. McCree slouched down for a moment, the weight of responsibility showing on his features for a few long breaths as he steeled his resolve. If nobody else would, then it was up to him to voice the alternative everyone else only managed to imply. “Might have been a suicide. You play along just far enough that folks assume you’re innocent, then you end it before they find out better.”

The cohort of agents around all tensed at the mention, and Jesse almost had the chance to regret his choice to put that out on the table before Reyes looked up at him with a solemn nod. Approval, he registered. 

“It matters why she did it. Our continued safety depends on analyzing each possibility before we rule any of them out. Something we should have done before deploying.” An apology seemed to belong in his pause somewhere here, but if Reyes lost it on the way, he didn’t wait long to search for it. “That’s why we needed her alive.” He reminded them with a washed-out kind of sternness in his voice. “Wan, you’re up next. Start with what happened to our comms.”

Everyone carried the weight of scrutiny evenly on operations like this. It was the closest to a comforting thought McCree could manage as he yielded the floor to the next agent. The way Reyes never lost a beat, how he poured over everyone’s performance individually was more democratic than the way Deadlock would root out weakness.

Once the worst had been rehashed to Commander Reyes’ satisfaction, they were dismissed by a wave of his hand along with some not-quite orders. 

“Go. Lay low. I’ll update you later.”

It wasn’t much in terms of direction, but McCree felt content to treat it as gospel. Simple enough, and he could hide behind it as a command if anyone pried. Having a little space to himself seemed like a fine idea. Still, Jesse understood well enough that he wouldn’t earn his peace of mind until he at least tried to help. Before Jesse was content to slip out into the hallway behind others, he hiked his courage up and inhaled a steadying breath.

“Hey boss.” McCree started in, and tried his best not to let his cheeks burn up when there was no reaction. Reyes kept his eyes down and his hands low and gesturing towards the holo screen, layering digital documents in order along with the spread of physical papers underneath. Jesse felt like a nuisance, but he reckoned that had to feel better than being a chickenshit. 

“You need a smoke? I’ve still got some of those nice Cohibas you got me for my 21st. We could-”

_“No.”_

Jesse swallowed hard as Reyes’ shifted his gaze up slowly in his direction, although his eyes seemed to focus somewhere behind him. Being looked through so easy like that made his hair stand on end.

By all measures, his commander was the most powerful man he had ever seen, but left alone under the fluorescents he seemed to have...waned. The overhead lighting casted an unforgiving shadow on his sharp features, making him seem more gaunt than McCree was comfortable with.

“Alright welp, I’ll leave you to it then. Sir.” He heard a sound beside him that gave him a startle, and realized he was unaware of his own fingers tapping against the doorframe. “You want the ah, door closed, or open?”

“...Closed is best, don’t you think?” 

The remark should have sounded sarcastic, but somehow in his tired voice it landed just this side of earnest. McCree nodded and pushed on the handle of the door, shutting it behind him as softly as he could. 

He wasn’t surprised at the reaction his offer had gotten, given the circumstances. Folks learned their first week that pity was as likely to draw ire from their commander as anything. Somehow he had hoped for better, as though it might be different this time. As he stepped away from the threshold, he forced himself to remember how the post-mission jitters always settled for everyone else long before they saw fit to fade out in his boss. Even on the good days.

It was something from the SEP, he’d reckoned. All the drastic changes they made, whatever turned Reyes into a goddamned force of nature with a shotgun in his hand would leave him wide-eyed and on edge until morning, most likely. His adrenaline had been tweaked, Jesse figured, or maybe something with his blood pressure went screwy. Morrison had mentioned genes once -- back when they’d been on better terms -- but all that sci-fi shit had seemed a little farfetched at the time so he hadn’t paid it much mind.

Some of the team ahead had decided to wait up for him, and he found himself sorely wishing they hadn’t. In an uncharacteristically dismal tone, Ibekwe lamented that the mess hall had stopped serving dinner hours ago. Jesse blanched at the thought. He’d never been one to pass up a meal on account of being dirty, but not a single member of the team had gotten out of China proper without some blood spatter as a souvenir. The smell of it clung to him, almost as thick as the gunpowder had. The transport’s emergency hand wash station was only capable of rinsing away so much. 

Right before he had a chance to slink completely away from the squad, Jesse’s vigilance had him zeroing in on the sound of snark and laughter up ahead. Howell and Wan walked together, retelling some bit about having to practically wait in line to leave their commander alone after a mission. With an uneasy wince, he pivoted on his heel down the fork in the hallway. 

All he could do was hope that nobody remembered he was responsible for that particular line. He kept his head down and focused on counting his steps in meters versus feet, and flexing his reloading hand to work off the tension.

Jesse had started out on Blackwatch’s B team, playing second fiddle on clean-up missions until he’d proven he knew what was what. He sure as hell wasn’t planning on ending his career there for some shitty wisecrack about his boss he made in his first few months.

 _Career,_ He thought bitterly, recalling the word Reyes had used way back when to convince him.  
_If I even got a career anymore..._

McCree slid his keycard up and stepped through as the door clicked open into the pleasant quiet of his quarters. His little corner of the planet was set in front of a not half-bad view of Crater Peak, for being on the Blackwatch side of the base. He couldn’t help but smirk as he imagined the look on Morrison’s face at the hell he’d raise if his room was ever reassigned. This was as close to home as it got anymore, and he inhaled the smell of it greedily. 

With everything how he left it, it took him no time at all to stuff a fresh set of clothes into a clean duffel. He’d decided to forego changing for now. The black of his uniform hid blood as well as anything, and his plan was to avoid the scrutiny of company. He waited behind the door, listening for the hallway to clear for a few beats as he doffed his chest armor and leg guards, tucking them away in the special hazmat bin.

Fridays were movie night, and despite loving a good classic, Jesse knew all the corridors close to the rec room would be furnished with people who hadn’t spent all week fucking up so bad. He couldn’t bring himself to think of the small talk he’d have to endure.

 _Tomorrow,_ he knew. _By the time Reyes pokes his head out for coffee, everything will seem a lot less heavy._

Holding on to that hope like a lifeline, Jesse made his way toward the Overwatch annex proper, keeping a watchful eye out for stragglers. He knew that end of the base would be the most likely place to find an empty hall this time of evening, but just in case, he felt compelled to slip the spurs off his boots before walking through the double doors. No use in making a racket if the goal was to lick his wounds in private. 

The last thing he needed was for someone like Lena to come bouncing over, as she was wont to do. Such a sweetheart, despite being the goddamn tension-seeking missile that she was. It would be more than he could handle watching her face drop when she noticed some detail he hadn’t washed off yet. The suspiciously ruddy crescents of dirt under his nails, or the difference between the color of his freckles and the blood spatter that still clung to his left arm and shoulder. 

_It’d be nice to have someone with her kinda speed around in Blackwatch, though. At least she’d have made it in time to do something useful._

Slipping his thumbs into his pockets, he pushed the thought from his mind with everything he had. He wouldn’t wish the feeling of letting Commander Reyes down on anybody half that gentle. 

Once he had stepped into the showers he realized how dark they were at night, although he supposed that was half the point.

Jesse didn’t feel the need to turn on the lights just on account of himself; he’d known since he was little that his eyes adjusted to darkness quickly. A grimace bubbled up unbidden at the thought of the annex’s fancy custom lighting revealing his position up from the seams in the doorway. 

Even having to think about how posh this wing of the base was felt unfair. Blackwatch went out to deal with the heavy shit and came home to showers and dorms so cramped, nobody would dream of assigning Overwatch agents to them. Sure, back in Deadlock they had next to nothing in terms of accommodations, but it was a different kind of wind down entirely. If a run went south, you could punch whoever did the worst square in the teeth. Added bonus, they didn’t often sit down to eat with you after.

 _Apples and oranges,_ he supposed. _At least the boss man ain’t gotta worry ‘bout his peace and quiet._

He was pretty sure Reyes had his own shower and everything.

McCree emptied his duffel, and set aside his fresh change of clothes on the spa-style slatted bench. It seemed much too fancy for the budget everyone always went on about, even in silhouette. Bracing himself against the chilly air of the vacant showers, he began stripping his outer layers one by one and tossing them into the open bag with little ceremony. 

His undergarments were a different story, however. Removing his black polyknit, space-age technology bullshit undershirt from where it had dampened and chafed was a process all itself. Peeling the rough fabric from where it stuck to the flesh of his collarbone found him pausing and gasping.

The light was too low to appraise the damage in a mirror, so he hazarded a brush of his fingers against where the seams had rubbed him the worst. This, he regretted immediately. The salt from his fingertips burned like a branding iron. He sucked in a series of ragged breaths to get himself past it.

The upside was, the uncomfortably cold slap of his bare feet against tile barely registered after that. With heavy-footed steps he carried himself towards the row of showers along the far wall, half numb and bracing with dread over how pink his skin likely was, and how much the standard-issue soap would sting against it. 

Jesse hung his head low and faced away from the shower to scrub the nape of his neck, unsticking the mats of gore from his slightly grown out hair. He worked in the lightly-scented liquid soap (standard-issue in this wing was apparently honey, and maybe coconut?) with the blunted tips of his fingernails. Sure enough, the raw nerves of his collarbone stung savagely as the soapy water bounced over and down his shoulders. 

When he wiped the suds from his eyes he could see the glow from his comm device pinging him with a light blue pulse, it’s glow illuminating the room in clusters of three from behind the shower’s half wall. 

_Reyes, most likely._

Enough time had passed for his commander to realize that “lay low” on it’s own was vague as hell. It hadn’t been enough direction to tide anyone over. McCree’s pulse quickened at the idea of being told to settle in, just to be brought right back into that state of mind again so soon.

Sulking, he sucked at his teeth and began lathering his arms almost aggressively.

“Just...just give me a dang minute!” Jesse hollered out to no one. Maybe whatever AI had decided he’d swapped from earpiece mode to the _‘bother me in a dark room while I’m goddamn busy’_ notifications would feel bad and rescind its alerts. A few pulses later it seemed there was no such luck.

His makeshift bubble of solitude was now flashing with soft pastel, and all he had to have done to stop it was leave the dang thing on it’s charging dock. Consonants and low edges of curses worked their way out of him. Despite trying to slip into his post mission wind down as far as he could, the sudden enmity overtook his mood and worked him back out just as fast.

McCree raked his nails along his frame, scrubbing and scratching harder than strictly necessary as he reminded himself of all the hard work he had put in to be there. His temper had never been great, but impulse usually only served him in the moment. 

His anger wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Reyes’ fault for the timing, it wasn’t the comm unit’s fault for being the messenger, and not a damn thing would be solved by standing there, fuming about either of them. 

A few long sighs followed the drop in his stance, along with the rolling of his shoulders. Some indistinguishable amount of time passed as he stared at the suds around his feet draining into the slats in the floor, dissolving to the pace of a soft blue beacon.

Right when the water finally felt like it was running clear, a fourth notification joined in the light show. The soft purple blinking of a message directed at him was enough to snap him back to reality. It offered just enough promise to nudge him out of his nice, safe pocket of steam and resignation. He padded over and snatched a towel up, drying himself a cursory amount before leaning forward to check what all the fuss was about. 

Sure enough, it was Commander Reyes in the encrypted mission channel, the six digit number he kept as his own serving as a dead giveaway. 

**[010072]:** “Our boy Blue will get back to me about how much heat OW takes from this. We’re still under the radar. Don’t worry about it too much for now.”  
**[010072]:** “Two weeks of downtime.” 

He continued scrolling and couldn’t help but meet the next line with a hollow chuckle.

 **[010072]:** “Treat it like a vacation.”

With an edge of finality, Jesse gestured to slide out of the squad chat and bring himself to his private messages. 

As his eyes flicked across the screen, something half startling and unexpected sparked down and through the core of him.

 **[G. Reyes]:** “I have something to talk to you about, if you’re up.”

Standing there with the comm unit in his hand, he was powerless against it. How could he help but crack a smile? Whether it was good or bad news, Reyes was in the mood to actually talk to someone tonight. A new mission on the horizon, maybe. Another chance to prove he could do better. 

He stood there flushed in anticipation for a short while, still clutching at the comm unit when a vague impulse towards modesty struck him. He set the small device down gently on his dry shirt and tugged the fresh change of sweats over his hips, considering it rude to do anything else first. By the time he had fastened the drawstring tight and tossed his towel over his hair, more muted magenta flashes started in. He nearly jumped in surprise when he noticed.

 **[G. Reyes]:** “Asleep? It’s fine. Better that way. I’ll ping you with details tomorrow morning.”  
**[G. Reyes]:** “Bright and early, agent.”

Taking a moment to center himself, Jesse pressed his clean toes hard into the grooves in between the tiles and let out a plaintive sigh. 

_Didn’t he say this was a vacation?_

**[J. McCree]:** “Like, wait. How early?”

**Author's Note:**

>  ***Walks in a month late after switching tenses of the whole story like three fully unnecessary times***  
>  Oh hey, the quick one-shot I was writing is now two (possibly three, if the spirit takes me and the narrative demands it) big ol' chapters because I don't know when to quit.
> 
> This was only possible because [JudgeCoffee](/users/JudgeCoffee) inspired me so hard with their writing that I made an account here in the first place.
> 
> Fun fact: The pilot at the beginning is named after the person who ended up being my beta reader, in honor of what a helpful and chill person he is! Also his Doomfist is TERRIFYING and should be respected. 
> 
> I had some difficulties finding a beta reader initially, and as such I may have missed some details in the time it took to revise and edit. Any mistakes you find, please point them out! Don't let me walk around looking silly.


End file.
